No, That's Just You
by Sophia Hawkins
Summary: Oneshot. Expanding on a line of Martin's from "Death and the Dog".


No, That's Just You

Martin Crane was laid out on his back, not moving, not breathing. So this is what it was like to be in the ground. At least it was quiet. No more bickering. No more fighting with Frasier. No more opera. No more praying mantis lady, Maris. No more ice queen Lilith. Well, being dead had its ups. Then he realized there was the other side to it, he'd never see Frasier or Niles again, he'd never see Daphne again, he'd never see Duke again, or his grandson, or Eddie, and he was starting to rethink the whole situation.

He started to wonder what kind of sendoff he got. With Frasier in charge, no expense was spared, he could just imagine the overpriced crap they'd get catered for the funeral. It made him glad he was dead, he wouldn't have to eat it, but he would've enjoyed seeing the looks on the faces of his old partners from the force, when they had to eat the kind of menu Frasier would plan: caviar, goose pate, all that fancy crap that real people never ate. No doubt, all his friends would've come, with all the years he was a cop, he'd have as much of a traditional sendoff as was possible without his overzealous sons getting in the way. Not that he was really a big fan of bagpipes, but hey, they came with the territory. At least he didn't have to stick around and hear that either.

Now he was starting to wonder how it happened. His hip had been giving him trouble for years, but that couldn't have had anything to do with it. As much beer as he drank, his heart should've been pickled enough to last him till he was 105, so a heart attack was out; it _couldn't_ be a heart attack, he just knew it couldn't. Hmm, what could it have been then? Oh well, not like it mattered now. Ooh, he hoped he hadn't been in the tub when it happened, that was one thing he always dreaded ever since he fell in the shower and had to move in with Frasier, that was one thing that haunted him for years, the idea of somebody having to find him like _that._

It slowly dawned on Martin that he was no longer laying on his back. Now he was standing up, and he was in a wide open space. The sky was cloudy and everything had a slightly gray twinge to it, he looked around and saw there was only one path, a road ahead, so he started walking. It felt very strange to not need his cane, and to not have any pain in his hip anymore. He could walk just like he had 30 years ago, he could probably even run if he wanted, but he decided to take in a scenic view of wherever he was, he might be dead but he didn't want to miss anything.

"Hello?" he called out, "is anybody there?"

There wasn't any answer. The road seemed to go on forever, and he wondered if he'd ever run into anybody that could explain what it was all about. He walked, and walked, and walked, and after what felt like an eternity, he started to see people up ahead. The road was crowded like there was some kind of rally going on, so Martin decided to check it out.

"Uh, excuse me?" he said as he walked up to the group, "Can you tell me…"

A handful of people turned around and Martin's eyes widened. It was the guys he served with in Korea, still in the prime of their lives, and out of uniform.

"Hey Marty! Long time no see."

"You're telling me," he said, taken aback, "Remember that night in basic training when we snuck into the DI's tent and glued his boots to the floor?"

They all had a good laugh in remembrance.

"Sure made things interesting the next day," one of his old army buddies said.

"Yeah, course he took it out on all of us since nobody'd confess, but, it was sure worth it," Martin said.

"Hey, we're all gonna get a beer, you wanna join us?" another former soldier asked.

"They got beer here?" Martin asked.

"Only the best."

"Whoa," he said with a laugh, "Sure, I'll catch up with you guys later."

They went one way and Martin went the other, continuing to make his way through the crowd, anxious to see if there were any other familiar faces.

"Martin Crane?" he heard a woman's voice.

"Yeah, that's me," he said as he turned around.

It was a tall young woman, and she walked up to him and said, "We never really met, but…"

"Oh my God, Helen!" Martin realized. The woman whose unsolved murder had plagued him for nearly 20 years, a face he'd initially seen in color, but had more commonly come to recognize in the black and white form of the photographs he continuously took out and re-examined.

"Thank you for solving my murder," she told him, "you have no idea what it meant to my mother."

"Oh your mother? Is she here?" Martin asked.

"No," she answered.

"Oh," Martin replied, then realized how it'd sounded, "Oh! What I meant was…"

"She's done much better since Shelby got arrested," Helen explained, "I guess she just needed the closure."

"Well it's good to see you, Helen," Martin told her.

"I'll see you around, Martin," she said and walked off.

Wow, being dead was turning out to be more interesting than he'd ever imagined. Martin wondered who else he'd run into here, and he wondered if they were all in this crowd, or if they were more scattered the further he went.

As he walked along, he passed men from the police force that he remembered but didn't partner with, a lot of them had been killed on the job when he was still at the academy and hadn't yet started to patrol. Further along, he ran into some of the guys that he had partnered with early in his career, they all had their own stories about what had been their end, getting shot on the job, a heart attack on the job, a heart attack during retirement, one of them ironically had been killed in a domestic violence situation, his own.

"How did you die, Marty?" one of them asked.

"I really don't know," he answered, "the last thing I remember is…huh…that's funny, I don't know what I was doing."

"Well we're gonna go get a beer, you want to join us?"

"Oh yeah, sure, I'll catch up in a minute, I want to catch up with a couple other people first," he said.

They went off, and he continued to make his way through the crowded street. He looked all around and finally came upon a couple of familiar faces he hadn't seen in a long time.

"Hey, Mom! Dad!"

"Marty!" his mother came to him with open arms. She still looked the same as when he came home to tell them he and Hester were engaged. She kissed him on the cheek and asked him, "How have you been?"

"Oh, been doing alright," he answered, "What about you guys?"

"We're fine, Marty."

"You bring the boys with you?" his father asked. He too looked the same as he had nearly 40 years ago.

"No, Pop," Martin scratched the side of his head, "I didn't."

"Too bad," he replied, then asked with a condescending sneer, "They still psychiatrists?"

"Yes, Pop," Martin answered.

"Figures," he replied.

"I guess some things never change," Martin said.

His dad looked at him and said, "Now don't tell me you actually buy into all that headshrinker stuff."

"No not all of it," Martin replied, "but they have a good point about some stuff."

"Ehhh," his father waved him off.

"You never change," Martin said, "When I brought Hester home, you didn't like her."

"That's not true, Marty," his mother told him, "We adored Hester."

"Yeah, but as soon as Pop found out what she did for a living, he started referring to her as 'Madam Witchdoctor'," Martin pointed out. He turned to his father and said, "Hester was great at her job, she was a great psychiatrist, and because of that, Frasier and Niles grew up to be great psychiatrists too. I don't agree with most of it, but they do help people, Pop, they're your own grandsons, I'd think you could be proud of them too."

His father looked at him and replied, "I'm proud of _you_ , Martin, you were a man, you did what any man was supposed to do, you joined the army, you became a cop, you served your country, you served the city. Those boys of yours, what would they know about any of that? What would they know about being real men? You tried to teach them, did they ever hit a baseball? No. Did they ever learn what a football was? No. Did they ever join the army?"

"That's enough," Martin told him, "I don't care if I'm your son, you will _not_ speak down about my kids like that. So what if they didn't turn out the way I wanted them to? I was always proud of them regardless, and they grew up to be fine men, and another thing…"

"Martin," another familiar voice approached him, "something the matter?"

He spun around and felt like he was 20 years old again. It was Hester. And she looked now just like she had when the boys were little.

She came up to Martin and took his hand in hers as she addressed his parents and said, "Hello, 'Pop', what's happening?"

The senior Crane grumbled something and walked off. Martin's mother came over and hugged her daughter-in-law, "Hester, it's so good to see you, you look wonderful."

"Thank you, kind of irrelevant now though, isn't it?" Hester replied in a good spirit about the situation.

"How've you been, Hester?" Martin asked.

She smiled at him and grabbed his chin with her thumb and forefinger, "I'm just fine, Martin. It's wonderful here."

"Yeah?" he asked, "Did you miss me?"

"Of course I did," she told him, "Did you miss me?"

"You kidding?" he asked, "I missed you every minute of every day."

"There were others," Hester said.

Martin looked towards the ground and wasn't sure what to say then.

"It's alright, Martin," his wife told him, "I wanted you to find someone else to spend your life with."

He looked back up at her, puzzled. "You did?"

"We only said till death do us part," she reminded him, "life had to go on for the surviving spouse."

Martin looked at her sheepishly as he confessed, "I felt so guilty…"

"You didn't need to," she said, "all I ever wanted was for you to be happy, Martin."

"I was happy with you, Hester."

Martin put his arms around his wife and silently vowed never to leave her again.

* * *

Martin felt his breath catch in his throat and he woke up with a small cough. He was lying in the middle of his bed, flat on his back, looking up at the ceiling. A little thing he did. Lie real still and close his eyes and hold his breath, and think about what it's like to be in the ground. He'd held his breath so long, he guessed he passed out. The pain in his hip was still there as he moved towards the edge of the bed to stand up. He grabbed his cane, took a look around his room as though it were some foreign place, and finally opened the door and walked out.

It was late in the afternoon. Frasier was home, Niles was over for a visit, Daphne was folding the laundry, Eddie was asleep in Martin's chair. Life was normal. Life, Martin realized, was good. It was very good.

Frasier and Niles had been discussing something amongst themselves when Martin finally came up towards them, and they suddenly stopped, and they looked at him, but neither was willing to be the first to speak.

"I'm proud of you boys," he told them, and leaning over, kissed each of them on the cheek one at a time.

The brothers turned and looked at each other with very perplexed, and in Martin's opinion, _priceless_ , looks on their faces as they just tried to make sense of what just happened. Martin walked over to the couch where Daphne was folding clothes, leaned down and told her, "You're a good kid, Daph," and kissed her on the top of her head, earning an equally confused look from her as well. Martin continued his way across the room and stopped at his chair, and woke Eddie up, and told the dog, "Let's go for a walk."

Yes, Martin thought to himself as he walked out of the apartment with Eddie's leash in hand, and the little dog pulling towards the elevator. Life was good. Aches, pains, gripes, and all.


End file.
